


New Year's Tease

by LittleMissPixieStix



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bad Puns, Fun, Light-Hearted, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Riddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 21:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5944072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissPixieStix/pseuds/LittleMissPixieStix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Doktor, is riddle,” Heavy told the annoyed man, “What is reason we cannot kiss?”</p><p>“A riddle?” Medic said flatly, “So, if I figure out the answer to your ‘riddle’, can I have my new year’s kiss?”</p><p>Heavy grinned at the offer, though Medic had no idea why.  The man seemed to be delighting in this far more than he should.</p><p>“Is deal,” Heavy said, “But if Doktor can not figure it out, he will still get New Year’s kiss tomorrow night, before new day begins.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year's Tease

**Author's Note:**

> You can find this fic on tumblr here: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/138836706067/new-years-tease  
> Likes and reblogs are appreciated, but by no means required.

The wild evening the team had had was finally winding down to a close.  They had been having quite the party to welcome in the New Year, and it had slowly started to quiet down as the team members grew more tired. **  
**

It was at Soldier’s behest that a party even be had in the first place, along with fireworks and a table full of food.  Though, the others had been planning on ringing in the New Year in their own way, they couldn’t deny that they were having fun and enjoying themselves.

No one was going to admit that to Soldier, though.  He could end up proudly needling them for days about it if they weren’t careful.

As the clock ticked ever closer to the New Year, the focus moved to the time and the waiting for the hands to hit midnight.  After the ball dropped, and drinks were clinked in celebration, the mercs soon grew distracted by other activities.

Medic slipped out of the room with a brief goodnight. taking advantage of the starting game of Monopoly between some of the mercs, and Heavy followed suit soon after, escaping with an impressive silence.  

How the giant could move so quietly when he wanted to, nobody knew.

Medic wasn’t really in the mood to question it though.  Not when the two of them finally had a moment to be alone.

“Enjoy the party?” Medic asked him as the two started walking.

“Yes.  Was a good party.” Heavy replied, a tired smile on his face, “Nice night with team.  Could not have asked for more.”

“Not even a gift of some sort?” Medic asked, “I’m sure the celebration felt lacking in that aspect to you.”

“Am not in Russia,” Heavy pointed out, “Only expected a party, and party was had.  Was a good night.”

“There is something I could give you,” Medic said slowly, “And something that you could give me.  A present, if you will.”

Heavy looked curiously at the German, eyeing the man with a raised brow and a suspicious expression.

“Is not electiv-”

“No, it’s not elective surgery, Misha,” Medic said, “Not this time.  Not until I figure out why it didn’-…”

The German stopped talking a minute, gears seemingly whirring in his head as he pondered over his last attempt at progress.  After only a moment, he remembered that he had been in the middle of a conversation.

“No, Misha, nothing medically related,” He continued, “I promise.”

“What is it?”

“A kiss,” Medic said, “You know, a New Year’s tradition.  Lovers kiss when the new year begins.”

“Is so?” Heavy asked slowly

“Yes,” Medic answered, “And since we’re alone, it would be a good time to-”

The doctor had started leaning towards Heavy, ready to finally have that tender, loving moment that he had been waiting all night for, the one where their lips finally met and the new year was properly celebrated with his partner and where after the night would be theirs-

Except a gentle hand stopped him before the had gotten too close.

“Not now, Doktor.” he was told.

Medic’s brows knit together as he kept pace alongside his team mate.

“Pardon?” was all his stunned brain could think to ask.

“No kiss tonight.” Heavy clarified.

“No kiss,” Medic repeated slowly making sure that he had this right.  Maybe he had misheard what Heavy was saying.  That thought was dashed, though, when a slow nod confirmed his fears though.  

A question was bubbling on Medic’s lips. “Why?” he wanted to ask. Why was he being denied now?

He didn’t ask though. Asking Heavy to clarify would probably only serve to open a possible floodgate of grievances. He’d rather not ring in the new year with that.

“As you wish, Misha,” The Medic replied chipperly, too chipperly, “I only hope that you’ll tell me when.”

A smile seemed to tick at the corners of Heavy’s lips, apparently amused by the Medic’s response.

“Doktor, is riddle,” Heavy told the annoyed man, “What is reason we cannot kiss?”

“A riddle?” Medic said flatly, “So, if I figure out the answer to your ‘riddle’, can I have my new year’s kiss?”

Heavy grinned at the offer, though Medic had no idea why.  The man seemed to be delighting in this far more than he should.

“Is deal,” Heavy said, “But if Doktor can not figure it out, he will still get New Year’s kiss tomorrow night, before new day begins.”

“Alright then,” Medic said, “This isn’t about the surgery, is-”

“No, not about the surgery.  Is that only guess” Heavy replied patiently, “You can guess as much as you want, but no hints.”

“That’s all I’ve got right now, but I don’t need any hints,” Medic told him, well aware of how Heavy’s eyes were lighting up in amusement, “I will figure this out and I will get my kiss.”

“You are smart man, you will figure it out,” Heavy told him, offering a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “Good night, Doktor.”

“Yes, good night, Misha.” Medic replied, studying Heavy as the man walked to his room, as if he could figure out what the answer was by reading it off of his shirt.  The only clue he got was the slight, friendly smile, which seemed to indicate that the Russian wasn’t angry about something.

That was it though.  The problem was compounded by the fact that Heavy most likely used the team “riddle” loosely.  It could mean an actual riddle, or it could mean that he felt like the question and answer segment he was putting Medic through felt like it was “riddle” to him.

Not to mention that there were possibly hundreds of answers that were the key.  Heavy wasn’t a fickle man, so the solution wouldn’t change on his whims.  Whatever the answer was, it was set.  That was the only consolation Medic had about this situation.

Before he went to sleep that night, Medic brainstormed a list of possible answers.  Though the brain wasn’t at it’s strongest when tired, it did seem to offer some creative solutions that he might not have usually come up with.  

He had been issued a challenge, and he was going to do his best to beat it.

The next morning, the team had the usual rowdy breakfast together.  Heavy was his usual quiet self, and Medic exchanged conversation with the Engineer.  No matter the topic, he glanced over at the Russian to see if there was a change of expression, a hint, to see if he was on the right path.  Heavy’s expression was as sturdy as a stone, so it did Medic no good.

As Heavy stood up to take his plates to the kitchen, Medic moved to join him.

“Is it because I bet you at blackjack last night?” Medic asked, forgoing a proper greeting for their game.

“Beat you at poker, so was fair,” Heavy replied, turning on the water in the sink, “Also, am not so petty.”

“I know that, but I have to start guessing somewhere,” Medic replied, “Is it because I’ve never read “The Death of Ivan Ilyich“?”

“No.  Book is not everyone’s tea cup,” Heavy replied as he started washing a small stack of plates by the sink, “You dry.”

“Alright,” Medic replied as he grabbed the dish towel, leaning back against the counter as he continued to ponder, “Is it because I accidentally let Pyro write in one of your books while I was, ah, watching them?”

“They only drew on empty front page.  Is nice team portrait.  Book feels personal now,” Heavy replied, moving through the plates with surprising efficiency, “Doktor, you are thinking too personal.”

“Was that a hint?” Medic asked with a turn of his head, “I thought I wasn’t getting any hint.”

‘Was more a nudge than hint,” Heavy countered, dropping into silence as he neared the end of the dish stack and flicked the faucet off.

The man could deny that what he had said was a hint, but it still was.  It was a hint that Medic was looking in the wrong venue, that he needed to find something less personal, though most likely still a possible issue, as to the reason why Heavy was holding back.  

“Alright,” Medic replied slowly, absentmindedly drying a plate, “I’ll guess more later.  We have a fight to get ready for.”

“Da, we do,” Heavy replied as he ambled towards the door, pausing to add, “Doktor, you are thinking too hard about this.”

Medic turned to look at him, pausing from putting the plate away, and fought to keep himseld from pursing his lips in annoyance.

“It's impossible to think too hard about something, you can only think not hard enough.”

“Is so?” Heavy asked slowly, a thoughtful look crossing his face, “But if you run race the wrong way, you have exercised muscles, yes, but did you get anywhere?”

“So you're saying I'm running the wrong way?”

“Did not say that,“ Heavy merely replied, “That would be hint. “

“Ah.  I see,” Medic replied after a moment, “Are you going to get ready for the fight now?”

“Da.  Need to make sure Sasha is ready.”

“I'll see you in the supply room, Misha,” Medic said, already trying to find a new avenue of thinking to run down.

Heavy nodded, indicating that he had heard, and then left.  Medic left the kitchen soon after, because he needed to prepare for the coming fight as well.

When the German finally met up with Heavy again, the supply room was riff with their other teammates.   That meant that their little guessing game was on hold for the time being.

BLU must have had quite the celebration the other night, because their performance was lacking on the field.  It was easy for the RED team to get a quick jump on the score, snagging a case with relative ease.

Once their Scout was starting the long sprint back with the next case, Medic found he had the time to think about Heavy’s “riddle” once more.

“Is it because you were killed by a headshot before you could get the intel to our base last fight?” Medic asked, healing the Russian’s wounds with his medigun.

Heavy had been peering around a corner, checking out the field, when he heard Medic.  A look crossed his face, a mix between bemusement and surprise.

“No,” He replied simply, his response cut short by the shrapnel from an rnem rocket spraying at the two of them.

“How much ammo do you have?” Medic asked, “And is it because a Spy backstabbed me and made me lose the charge I had last round?”

“Have some ammo.  Not a lot.  Need more.” Heavy answered him, “Was not your fault.  You are busy giving life to others.  Should have been watching out for you more.”

“So it wasn’t because of that,” Medic mused, surveying the field as Scout came screaming around a corner, intel strapped to his back.  

A handful of BLUs were hot in pursuit and the poor boy could only fire shots back behind him in an attempt to buy himself a few seconds.  Demoman came out of their base, ready to try to take out at least a few of the BLUs and help Scout get farther ahead of them.  Soldier followed only a second later.

The medigun hummed loudly, signalling that an Ubercharge was ready.  Medic knew he needed to make the most of it, and pop it now so that he could start building up another.

Is it going to be because I’m ubering the Demoman?” Medic asked, a teasing purr in his voice before he raced off to join the others at the front line.  

Heavy could only listen as the Scotsman let out a proud battle cry as the power of the Uber washed over him, the explosions soon following his yell.  He knew very well what it felt like, and he had a feeling he knew why Medic had chosen someone else.  

If it wasn’t the lack of an abundance of ammo that had encouraged Medic to go uber the Demoman, then it was the thought that he could tease Heavy back by doing so.

It was an amusing thought, especially since the other man was overlooking the very simple answer to Heavy’s riddle.  For such a smart man, the Medic could be quite stubborn when he thought he was on the right path.  It was a shame that he wasn’t.

Though, Heavy did have to admit that it was quite enjoyable to be in this position, to have challenged their Medic like this.

As the Russian was stocking up on more bullets, Scout came racing in out of the fray, his shirt singed and bloody, with the intel no worse for the wear.   Demo and Medic were backpedaling in, the uber having run out, a rocket exploding by them.  The Scotsman was sent flying left, away from the Heavy, and Medic was sent flying right.

“Good work, Doktor,” Heavy congratulated the other man as the announcement of their capture came over the speakers, “Now get behind me.  BLUs are charging.”

With a wicked, enthusiastic grin, Medic, in all his battered and bloody glory, was soon battling to keep Heavy alive as the two of them tried to keep the BLUs from storming the base.  The two of them worked well together, somehow knowing what the other was going to do before they did it.  

With teamwork like this, the current threat was gone.  By the time the round was over, BLU had been railroaded by a score of three cases to one.  With how surprisingly easy that was, RED had a feeling that BLU had partially beaten themselves.

Medic soon got to work patching up everyone, with Heavy being his first patient.  The Russian had been hit solidly quite a few times and was bleeding much more profusely then any of the others.

“Have a seat, Misha, I’ll be right with you,” Medic told him as the German finished dabbing his own shrapnel-scratched arm with some quick-healing balm, “Care to take a guess how many bullets you’ve got in you?”

“At least ten,” Heavy replied confidently, a mischievous smile on his face as he tried to make light of the painful situation.

Medic looked over at the larger man, surveying his form over the rim of his glasses.  The man was absolutely peppered with bullets, the other team’s Heavy having done quite a fine job filling Misha with holes.  If it weren’t for the medigun being directed on him, the Russian would have surely been torn to pieces by the spray.

“Well...” Medic replied slowly, his smile matching Heavy’s own, tugging his sleeve back down, “You’re not wrong.”

It soon grew quiet as Medic got to work pulling out the bullets.  He was well aware that this was quite painful and the time for talking would come later.  After the last bullet was removed, and added to a decent sized pile of them, Medic turned the medigun on the Russian.

“Is it because one of my doves excreted on your shoulder?” He asked as he adjusted the strength on the gun.

“Might not kiss dove after that, but would not hold it against owner.  Was never one to kiss doves anyway.  That is more you,” Heavy replied, watching and observing as Medic paused to think some more.

His glasses were slightly crooked, having been bent in the fight.  He had lost buttons on his coat, so the upper part of the flaps hung loose.  His hair had gotten quite mussed, but that was thanks to the overzealous doves as much as it was the fight.  A dark bruise stood out on his handsome, pale face.

If Heavy hadn’t been enjoying this little game so much, he would have given the man a kiss right then and there.

“Am I still far off?” Medic finally asked him.

“Yes.  Very.” was the reply he got.

“Hmm, alright,” Medic replied, accepting that it was probably the only thing close to a hint he was going to get, “Thank you.”

“Still thinking too personal,” Heavy told him, sighing as the healing rays of the medigun washed over him.

“I don’t want any hints.  I’m going to figure out what about the date is keeping you from kissing me..”

“You are smart man.  Maybe too smart,” Heavy told him, quirking an eyebrow at Medic, “I know you can do it.”

“I just don’t understand why you don’t _want_ to kiss me,” Medic told him, feigning a look of disappointment as he grabbed a cotton ball out of a glass jar.

“Is very hard.  Much willpower is needed,” Heavy replied.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Medic said teasingly as he tipped a bottle over quickly, the cotton ball plugging up any leak,“But you are a man of power, both of body and will.  If anyone could keep me wanting and waiting, it’s you, _meine hartnäckigen Bären_.”

“Flattery will not get you answer,” Heavy told him, “But I do not think you need it yet,  _упрямый гений._ ”

“I don’t,” Medic replied confidently as he swabbed at his cheek, the bruise slowly starting to fade, “I’ll figure it out before tonight.”

“Will tell you something.  Might help leetle bit, Sco-.”

The door to the medibay swung open suddenly, bringing the conversation to a halt.  Scout stood there, holding a bloody rag to his arm.

Medic paused as he looked over at Heavy and then over at Scout, cotton ball still held against his face.

“Listen, I’m sure you’re havin’ a heck of a party in here an’ all but I think I’m gonna faint and last time I did that Pyro, an’ probably some others, drew on my face an’ I don’t want that to happen again,” He said, leaning against the door, “You two done enough for me ta’ collapse on a bed in here at least?  Don’t think you’ll draw on me, ‘xept for the lines you doodle on people ‘fore you cut them open sometimes, Doc.”

“Leetle man is welcome. Just finished,” Heavy told him as he stood up to leave, “Would not be good if you fell.”

As the Russian stood to leave, he took a moment to stop next to Scout and whisper something in the boy’s ear.  The Bostonian raised a brow at whatever Heavy said to him, pausing to give the man a confused look, mouthing the work “okay” before Heavy left the room.

“Alright, give me the ‘zap zap heal’ and then I’ll get out of your way, Doc,” Scout said as he climbed on the bloody gurney, “Then you can get on to the others.”

Medic, quite annoyed about the interruption, gently tossed his cotton ball into the trash and began taking care of Scout.

Once Scout’s _treatment,_ including a brief transfusion and unnecessary stitches,was finished, Medic was feeling better.  The boy may have been in a bit of pain, especially when Medic took his stress out on popping Scout’s fractured Humerus back together, but they were both no worse for the wear.

The rest of the team were a cinch to take care of.  Advil, quick “zap zap heals”, bandages were dished out as the Medic rolled the last not-hint Heavy had given him around in his head.  For “not giving any hints” the man was sure doing a lot to try to point Medic in the right direction.

It had something to do with Scout.  What it did, Medic wasn’t sure.  But Scout was part of this somehow.  If it wasn’t something personal, as Heavy had been not-hinting him, then perhaps it was something Scout had told him.  

He hadn’t asked the boy because that was akin to cheating.  If he chested to get the answer, then he might as well just admit defeat because all it did was show that he didn’t know.  

If Scout was the key, which he might as well go with because he had nothing else, then he definitely needed to start thinking simpler and along a different vein.

Oh, this was going to be difficult.

There was only one moment between dinner and their even freetime where Medic and Heavy had a moment to speak.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the Red Sox, does it?” He asked quietly as he sat down next to Heavy at the dinner table.

“No.” The Russian replied.

“Did you say Red Sox?” Scout asked, head perking up like a puppy that had heard his name.

“Red socks.  As in bloody,” Medic said, the lie as smooth as glass, “I was asking if Heavy knew if we were getting any socks in the next shipment because all of mine are getting stained with blood.”

“Must not be fighting very good if you’re socks are all getting bloody,” Scout said, disappointed that baseball was not actually being talked about.

“I never said that the blood was all _mine, Junge.”_ Medic countered.  This seemed to remind Scout that he had received painful, unneeded stitches that had been removed right after the medigun had been used.

It wasn’t until after dinner, after a long game of poker was followed by a long game of blackjack and then Texas Hold ‘em.  By the time it was over, Medic was hoping for a game of solitaire, because that at least meant he’d have time to think.

As he was heading to his room, Heavy stood in the hall, his large form leaning against the wall as he waited.

“Doktor want to come in?” He asked, head nodding towards his room, hand already reaching towards the knob.

“Yes,” The German replied as he walked into the room, “Thank you.”

Heavy closed the door behind them and then started heading for the bed.  As he sat on the edge and removed his boots, Medic was sliding his off, as well as his coat, and leaving them on the other side of the bed.

“What time is it?” He asked Heavy, climbing into the bed next to him.

“Is after eleven.” Heavy replied, taking a moment to glance at the clock before clarifying,  “Eleven-thirty eight.”

“Almost midnight,” Medic replied, laying back against the pillows, thankful that Heavy had been given a larger bed then the other men.  It would be hard to lay down and relax with him in a twin-size, that was for sure.

“Have any guesses?” Heavy asked, looking over at Medic.

“Do I?  Well, hmm...” Medic paused, hands resting on his middle as he thought for a minute, “Nothing to do with Spy?”

“Spy?” Heavy asked, chocking back a bark of a laugh, “How is Spy involved?”

“Mmm, I don’t know why,” Medic said slowly, “From your reaction, I don’t think you know why that’d be a guess to try either.”

“No.”

“Ah.” Medic let his head lay back against the pillow, quietly thinking for another minute, “You said Scout was involved, didn’t you?”

“Is why you guessed Spy?”

“Yes.  Scout doesn’t like him much.  That’s why,” Medic sighed, “How _is_ Scout involved exactly?”

“Are you asking for hint?” Heavy asked with a slight smirk.

“Misha, it’s less than a quarter ‘til midnight.  I’ve been trying to figure this out for almost a day.” He said, “Just answer the question.”

“Scout was one who told me riddle,” Heavy said, “Is only way he’s involved.”

“Wait, he _told_ it to you?” Medic asked, turning on his side and holding his head in his arm, “Are you implying that this is a _joke?”_

“Joke.  Riddle.  Are same thing,” Heavy said, shrugging a shoulder as he looked over at his Medic, “Both are question with funny, clever answer.” 

Medic slowly sat up, a confused smile ticking at his lips.

“Are you telling me that this whole thing, this whole question and answer game we played, was part of a _joke?_ I really was overthinking, wasn’t I? _”_ Medic was fighting to hold back laughter, and he was losing, “Misha, ha- Are you- Misha, I have never heard a joke with a twenty-four hour buildup.”

“First time for everything.” Heavy replied his voice filled with amusement as he watched the other man try to smother his chocked laughs into his fist, “Should not laugh yet, Doktor, have not told you answer yet.”

“And I am sure that you are absolutely _dying_ to,” Medic replied as he took off his glasses and wiped at his eyes, “Go ahead, Misha.  Tell me the answer.”

“Are you sure?” Heavy asked, “Need one more minute?”

“Yes, I’m sure.  Go ahead,” Medic said as he placed his glasses down on the bedside table, “Remind me what the first part of this joke is again too.”

“Why do you not kiss someone on the first of January?” Heavy said, looking over at Medic.

“I give up, _meine hartnäckigen Bären_ , why do you not kiss someone on January first?” Medic asked as he lay down next to the Russian.

“Because, _упрямый гений,_  it is only the first date.” Heavy said quietly.  He had enjoyed the joke when he heard it, the duality with the American word “date” being utterly fascinating to him, but he hadn’t waited nearly a day to hear the ending.

“Because it’s only the-“ Medic repeated slowly, a slow, small smile lighting up his face as he understood the punchline, “Misha, I never thought I’d say this, but you’re a rascal.”

“You are too, Medic,” Heavy told him good-naturedly as he patted the bed next to him, “Never has man overthought joke so much before.”

“Never has a joke had so much build-up,” Medic countered, shifting next to the man, “I do have a question, though.”

“What is question?”

“Does this mean that I have to wait for the second day to get my new year’s kiss?” Medic teased.  

Instead of a reply, Heavy instead pulled the man down onto the bed and shifted to be above him.  Cupping his face in his hand, Heavy gently pressed a kiss onto Medic’s lips as the other man wrapped an arm around him.

“Still in a playful mood?” Medic purred once the kiss was broken, squinting his eyes slightly as he looked up at the man.

“ _Yes_.” was the rumble of a reply he received.  

“Show me.”

The kiss he got next certainly was on the way for making up for the wait.  It turned into a deep, passionate lip-lock that had him happily humming into it.  A hand pawed at his clothes, from fumbling to his buttons to tugging at his belt, eager to get the New Year’s fireworks between them started.

Slipping a hand between them, Medic started to slowly, ever so slowly, unbutton his vest.  He could have moved faster.  

 _Could have._ He didn’t though.

Heavy had had his moment.  It had come and gone, and been well enjoyed before it came to a close.  So Medic didn’t see why he couldn’t get in some fun of his own before the clock struck midnight and signaled the day was over.

Heavy growled as he kissed Medic’s neck and upped chest, annoyed how small the buttons on his clothes were and growing frustrated that the German was even still _clothed_ at this point

Medic grinned when he heard the sound, whispering dirty encouragements into Heavy’s ear, trying to get the other man more and more riled .  

The night may have be drawing to a close, but, to him the New Year’s Tease had just begun.


End file.
